Voice of a Nightingale
by Hiding.in.the.cookie.jar
Summary: Five times Dorian heard John sing. Fluff. Dorian/John


**AN: Because why not write a fic for a show that has two episodes?**

The first time Dorian heard him, it was on their way home.

John was relaxed in the driver's seat, the scent of the take-out they just picked up filled the whole car from the back seat. Dorian watched raindrops slide down the window and out of sight.

The radio was playing just loud enough to be heard to over the rain beating against the roof of the car. It was an old song that John picked because that is apparently how rules in a car go. John's car, John's music. At first Dorain did not pay much attention to it. He focused his attention on looking out the window, successfully tuning out the music. It was near the chorus when he began to notice something that couldn't be part of the song. A low hum, coming from a different area than the speakers in the front of the car. And then Dorian realized. It was John.

Dorian spared a glance to the detective who sat impassive, focussing on the road ahead of him. The humming was definitely coming from him. It matched John's deep, gruff voice, but it sounded surprisingly… good.

Dorian turned back to his window, hiding his smile.

* * *

The second time Dorian heard him, John was not in control of his mouth.

A case landing John in the hospital or Dorian needing rebooted was not a rare occurrence. This time, it was much less violent. It wasn't a shootout or a fight like usual but instead the clumsiness of John. If anyone were to ask him, he would say he was tripped. If anyone were to ask Dorian, he would say John lost his balance right when he caught the culprit and they both went down a long flight of stairs.

The doctors and nurses held back sighs when they saw Dorian supporting a concussed John with more than a few ribs broken. John was settled into a bed, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Does it have to be so damn bright in here?" he growled.

The nurse walking into the room turned down the lights. She carried a small tray with many needles and medications. Dorian stood over John's bed, watching her approach and ready the first shot.

By the time John had been fully examined, he was completely out of his mind with drugs. He sat silently, albeit a little unsteady, and allowed the doctor to wrap his ribs and stitch his head.

The doctor decided to keep John overnight for observation. John protested and stood up from the bed to move towards the door. In one step he was in Dorian's arms. When he was settled back into bed, the doctor bid him a goodnight and left.

Dorian sat by his side, watching the concussed and drugged man begin to entertain himself. He tapped his fingers against the covers, creating some rhythm that could only make sense in his current state of mind. They sat in silence before John rolled his head to Dorian. He smiled and held out his hand. Dorian was unsure what to do. John waved his hand and nodded. Hesitantly, Dorian grabbed it. Only then was John happy.

"I love you," John said, his words slurring slightly.

Dorian smiled back. John was never the type to address his affection in any other way than late nights wrapped in each other's arms on the couch and risking his neck during cases to keep Dorian safe.

"I love you, too."

John squeezed Dorian's hand and brought it back to his side and unintentionally dragging Dorian towards him. And then, in mumbling words tumbling from a clumsy mouth, John began singing. It was off-key and Dorian could barely make out the words. Dorian rubbed his thumb over John's rough hand, bowing his head in affection to the song that he had a feeling was sung only for him.

Slowly, John's singing became repetitive and slower and more slurred until it faded out into soft breaths of sleep.

* * *

The third time, Dorian was woken up by it.

Synthetics did not technically sleep. They recharged and DRNs did it in the appearance of sleep. Dorian had always stayed with John from the first day they became comfortable with each other. There was a sort of responsibility that came with having a synthetic - regardless of relationship. At first, it was in the guest bedroom. When they became more than friends soon after, they began sharing a bed.

It was not common for Dorian to finish recharging before John woke up. He would wake up and John would be watching him, a small smile spreading on his lips. That morning, however, Dorian woke up and John was not laying beside him. From the kitchen, he could hear music playing softly and bowls being moved around on the counter. Dorian laid there for a moment more, taking in how ridiculously domestic the situation was. Never in a million years would Dorian have ever expected John Kennex to become domestic.

The song faded out on the radio and was replaced by a new one. A softer song, more instrumental than the current popular songs. It was accompanied by John's melodic voice wafting through the hall.

Dorian waited in the hallway, just out of sight of John. He watched the detective, wearing only his boxers and a t-shirt, synthetic leg exposed, making breakfast. John fumbled over the words for a second before picking right back up and continued right on key. He didn't smile while he sung but Dorian could definitely see some joy shining in his eyes. When John finished the last note and the disk jockey began talking, Dorian stepped in the kitchen and was greeted with a small peck on the cheek.

* * *

The fourth time, Dorian was not the only one to hear it.

It was Christmas and there was an office party. For John, it was a holiday to be celebrated with alcohol. For Dorian, it was confusion. He was unaware of how it was celebrated as he had never celebrated it before. He had been around for holidays, of course. But he never got the chance to properly celebrate them.

Valerie had pulled John's glass away from his hands when it was obvious he was way past his limit. She laughed at the pout she received. Dorian repeatedly refused to allow John any more wine and eventually John succumbed.

Dorian observed the various behaviors of their co-workers. The captain was much more relaxed than usual, casually socializing. Valerie was beaming and thoroughly enjoying every moment of the party. Other officers were mingling throughout the office. That was how he had learned how people celebrated. Not getting drunk past the ability to walk like John.

Music was playing but no one could hear it over the talking. Except for John. He snickered to himself, drawing Dorian's attention. It was a classic Christmas carol that everyone would know the lyrics to and Dorian could tell that inspiration had struck inside the detective.

John began singing, startling everyone in the immediate area. Dorian smirked as John waved his arms to get everyone to join in. With much reluctance, everyone did. John doubled over he was laughing so hard. When he composed himself, he began singing above everyone else. His voice was hindered slightly by his giggling and the drinks but Dorian still found it just as sweet.

Dorian looked around at everyone singing. They all seemed surprised - and a little relieved - at John's behavior. Valerie had her phone up, recording all of it. John would be pissed in the morning.

When Dorian turned back around, he was coerced into joining by John. He quickly researched the lyrics and sang to the best of his ability. It was strange. Singing. No matter how human-like Dorian would be, there would always be something that would take him by surprise and John would most likely be the reason behind it.

The next morning John refused to move from the bed and burned with embarrassment from the video he was sent.

* * *

The fifth time, Dorian finally brought it up.

Sometimes, a case would through them a curve ball. One time Vallerie got a cat at the end that was once a victim's. John and Dorian could never be so lucky, though. Because every once in a while, a victim had a six month old son.

After a kidnapping, it was decided John and Dorian would take care of the child while other officers went to investigate. Grumpy because he was stuck with the worst job, John sulked at his desk while holding a baby. One on hand, it meant he could avoid doing paperwork. On the other, the boy just peed in his arms.

Dorian watched with great amusement as John tried changing the diaper in the bathroom. After one failed attempt, John grew furious. He kept his mouth shut in front of the kid, though, and in 20 minutes, John had successfully put a new diaper on the baby. Dorian followed them out of the bathroom and back to their desks. He watched for several minutes as John shifted the baby in his arms to get him more comfortable. But it didn't seem to impress the boy and he began fussing and the fussing soon turned into ear-splitting sobs.

John had never looked so panicked before in his life. He bounced the baby in his arms, tried feeding him a bottle provided by Captain Maldonado, and checked his diaper again but there wasn't anything wrong.

"Maybe he's tired," Dorian suggested.

"Then why doesn't he just sleep?"

They were attracting the attention of everyone in the office but the three of them did not seem to notice.

"Try comforting him. Sing him a lullaby."

Dorian hadn't realized what he had said. It had been months since the Christmas party and the last time he had heard John sing. He had come to the conclusion that it wasn't a talent John felt comfortable with everyone knowing about.

John glared at him. He shifted the baby around in his and earned another high-pitched scream.

"Fine," he grumbled.

And he began singing a low lullaby. It wasn't a traditional one, Dorian knew, but one that someone had recognized as a lullaby since the first weeks after their birth. One that had its own meaning etched into the lyrics and notes John knew from memory.

The baby quieted down and fell asleep. John trailed off, smiling down at the kid. Dorian moved his chair closer to him and stared down at the infant.

"Where did you learn to sing?" he asked.

John tensed. "Didn't really learn," he mumbled. "My mother always sang around the house. I got it from her."

The baby stirred but remained asleep.

"What would she sing?"

"Anything, really." John smiled at the memory. "She would sing old songs to me at night when I was young and she would sing whatever was on the radio. My father said she had the voice of a nightingale - whatever that means."

"Did something happen to her?"

"She died." John sighed, the smile once again off his face. "When I was in training. She was sick."

"You have my condolences."

John nodded. "But it happened years ago. I'm over it."

But John was very obviously not over it. Dorian had learned to read those eyes long ago and they were still pained by his loss.

"John," Dorian said, voice barely above a whisper. "You have the voice of a nightingale."

The detective looked up at him, the smile beginning to grow again. "Don't get sappy on me. It's gross."

The case was a rare one and it ended by the end of the night the baby was back with his family and Dorian and John were tangled in each other's arms on the couch.


End file.
